The Long and Winding Road Hannibal/Face Part 5

[indigo_angels]

 

It really felt like the hundredth day in a row that Face had woken up with a thumping headache. Why did he continue to drink like this? How much longer would his liver hold out? Maybe he should start drinking coke instead...

 

Coke. That stirred something in his head and he frowned. Last night... his head hurt so much that the memories were pretty vague to say the least, but hang on, last night he hadn’t drank at all, it was diet cokes all night. Until Jessie had got that champagne, but even then he’d only had a glass, half a glass really. And then? Well, then it all went blank. He must have fallen asleep.

 

He was laid on his stomach, facing the window and he could see that the sun was up, still early though, maybe about seven, they had to get going. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, they were going back to Hannibal...

 

He pushed himself up on his hands and turned to Jessie, “Come on Sleeping Beauty, we need to head out. I told you-” and he stopped. In half a second he was out of the bed, backing towards the windows, a hand jammed over his mouth to stop the hysteria that was threatening.

 

Jessie was laid on her back, beside his now empty side of the bed, eyes closed and hands resting lightly on her stomach, just underneath the knife that was sticking straight up and out of her heart.

 

He hit the windows with a thud and froze; chest heaving as he tried to force his eyes to take that knife out of the picture, but it just wouldn’t go.

 

She was dead. That much was plainly obvious. The crimson stain of blood on her sheets not even that big, the knife must have stopped her heart almost immediately. At least she didn’t look like she had known much about it.

 

Suddenly Face recoiled in horror as he recognised the handle of the knife; it was the one he had taken off that punk on the lakeshore the other night, the one who had tried to rob him. He’d had it on him ever since, had thrown it in his kit bag last night. So, what did that mean?

 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit...

 

Memories of his nightmare the other night flashed back at him. He hadn’t... had he? Jesus Christ, what if he had...

 

He had to get out. He wanted to scream and shout and grab Jessie from that bed and just squeeze the life back into her, but he knew there was nothing he could do for her now, he just had to get out, he could feel the absolute panic about to drown him. He turned to the chair where he knew he had left his bag, but there was nothing there. Maybe Jessie had moved it and he cast around frantically, trying to track it down. Nothing. He scrubbed at his eyes. Where the fuck was his stuff? Things just didn’t disappear!

 

His jacket was gone, he ran into the bathroom and saw that the robes had gone, even the towels. Back into the bedroom, trying so hard not to look at Jessie lying there so still and pale, but even her clothes had gone. So had the bed covers, only one blood stained sheet remained.

 

His sixth sense for danger was screaming at him now, get out, get out, get out... and he knew that was a warning he should never ignore.

 

He ran to the door and cracked it open, noticing the chain was off when he knew damn well he had put it on last night. The corridor was empty so he took one last glimpse at Jessie’s still form, and silently slipped out, closing the door behind him.

 

The fire escape was mercifully close as Face was painfully aware of being naked, and being so early it was deserted as he tore down the stairs, three and four at a time. He reached the basement without being seen and tracked round the deserted service corridor looking for the laundry room. It was helpfully signposted, but unhelpfully locked, and just as Face was about to head off to find a fire extinguisher to smash the door down with, he heard it open and ducked out of the way as an elderly porter pushed a trolley full of clean sheets out into the corridor. Face let him go and slid out of his hiding place just in time to catch the door before it clicked locked again.

 

Once he was inside it only took few minutes before he struck gold, an entire three piece suit, including a freshly pressed white shirt and shined up shoes, just waiting for him. He dressed in a rush, the trousers slightly too big, but wearable, then slipped back out into the corridor and up the stairs towards the lobby.

 

One newspaper hastily snatched from outside a bedroom and a briefcase from next to the lift, and his cover was complete. He walked out through the foyer, keeping his head down and his pace discrete just as a Police cruiser pulled up at the front.

 

Headed for the city centre, he just kept walking.

 

______________

Hannibal crossed his legs and rested the opened newspaper across them, pretending to read while he discretely scanned the boardwalk and surrounding area. It was early but promising to be a beautiful day and he was glad he’d thrown a t-shirt and some shorts on, feeling the sun on his bare skin was revitalizing. He took a sip of coffee and glanced up at the roof where he knew Murdock was laid out flat on his stomach, and then at the parking lot just behind a row of souvenir shops where BA waited in a rental car. Venice Beach may not have been his first choice for a meeting with Sosa, but at least, between him and his boys, he knew they had it wrapped up tight.

 

“Hey there Muchacho,” a voice sounded in his earpiece, “I think I see ol’ Diablo woman herself, coming up on your left, black running gear,” Hannibal tried not to wince as a low whistle hissed directly into his ear, “Oh, she is one fit lady! In more ways than one!”

 

“Keep your eyes off the women and on the job, fool!” A low voice growled in reply and Hannibal lifted his coffee cup again to shield his mouth.

 

“Knock it off guys; let’s see what the lady wants.”

 

He had spotted her himself now, running up the boardwalk towards him, obviously going for the jogging story as cover. He wondered if it had occurred to her that most joggers don’t stop for coffee mid route, but he wasn’t too concerned about their cover being blown, he and the boys had been here since 4am, there was nothing suspicious out here at all.

 

He took a deep breath and tried to coral his naturally antagonistic attitude towards her. He’d never appreciated the way she had treated Face, both when they were together and after they’d split. She’d been the only woman who’d ever been able to really get to him, and boy, she’d taken full advantage of that fact. And then there was the text she’d sent him yesterday, We need to talk about that problem child of ours. Schulzies, Venice Beach, tomorrow, 8am. There was a lot to resent about that text; the way she’d referred to Face, the implication that she still had some vested interest in him, the inferred order in her words... but Hannibal swallowed it all down. If she had something she needed to say, then he would listen.  

 

He nodded politely as she dropped into the seat in front of him, not even sweating which made him question just how far she had run, and he pushed an empty coffee cup towards her. She shook her head tersely, looking around in a nervous fashion and Hannibal wondered just how much undercover work she actually did.

 

“You summoned me, Captain?” he was fairly keen to get this over with.

 

Sosa turned her eyes on him and if she picked up on the undercurrent of hostility in his voice then she didn’t let on. She leaned across the table, keeping her voice low. “You told me that you would keep him safe, what the hell has been going on?”

 

Hannibal bristled at her words and leaned in himself, aware that Murdock and BA were listening to every word. “He’s a grown man. I’m not his keeper and you know damn well he’s not with us at the minute.”

 

“Well, maybe he should be!”

 

Hannibal sighed around his annoyance, he had this conversation with BA on a daily basis, he sure as hell didn’t intend having it again today with Sosa. “Face is perfectly capable of looking after himself.”

 

Sosa leaned back and folded her arms. “Really?”

 

Hannibal shook his head, “If you have something to tell me, then please, just get on with it.”

 

For a second it looked as if she was going to get up and stalk off, but then she reached around in her backpack and withdrew an A5 sized envelope. She pulled out some photographs and placed them in a pile in front of Hannibal leaning over to tap on the top one. “Jessica Gaarder, duel US/Norwegian national, sometime girlfriend of Chicago mob king pin, Joseph Pacitto.” Hannibal looked at the slightly grainy CCTV cap of a slight woman with white blonde hair standing waiting for an elevator and nodded as Sosa took the photo away to show him the one underneath, “More CCTV footage shows her in Face’s company numerous times in the last few days,” she flipped through four or five more photographs.

 

“Where is this?” Hannibal asked, recognising a large inner-city hotel when he saw one.

 

“W Lakeshore, Chicago,” Sosa replied stopping at a photograph of Face and Jessie walking along a corridor together. Hannibal found his eyes drawn to where their hands appeared to meet in the middle and his chest constricted.

 

He sat back, “And why should this interest me?”

 

Sosa eyed him carefully, “Because yesterday morning Jessica Gaarder was found dead in a suite at W rented by Face under the alias Rob Taylor,” she handed Hannibal the next photograph showing a naked female body, covered by a bloodstained sheet, murder weapon still in situ and Hannibal felt a cold shiver run down his back.

 

“You think the mob did this?”

 

Sosa brushed her hair out of her eyes, “Face’s fingerprints are all over the knife, his DNA is all over the victim.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes flashed up to her face, “What do you mean, ‘all over the victim’?”

 

For a split second something akin to sympathy flashed across Sosa’s features before it was chased away, “They were obviously lovers. Preliminary reports indicate that sexual intercourse took place between the two of them sometime in the three hours before Gaarder’s death. Initial investigations suggest that it was not forced.”

 

“’Not forced?!” Hannibal’s heart was thumping uncomfortably hard against his ribs, “Just what are you suggesting here, Captain?”

 

Sosa met his glare head on, “I’m not suggesting anything. I am simply informing you of the facts.”

 

Hannibal pushed the photographs back. “So where is he now?”

 

“No idea,” she took the bottom photograph from the pile and pushed it back to him. “This may or may not be an image of him leaving the hotel five minutes after an anonymous tip off was called in with the whereabouts of Gaarder’s body.” Hannibal could tell it was him, even though he was obviously angling his face away from the camera and trying to blend in with the morning workers with his briefcase and newspaper. “No one has seen him since.”

 

Silence fell as Hannibal stared at that last image of Face leaving the hotel, his mind in a complete maelstrom.

 

“Hannibal,” Sosa leant over the table again, the severity of the situation obvious in her eyes, “Once his prints were picked up at the scene he instantly became America’s most wanted. All this info has landed on my desk as I am still heading the hunt for you guys, but it’s out of my hands now. If you have a way to get in touch with him, you’d better reel him in, damn quick.”

 

Hannibal tore his eyes away from the photo, “He didn’t do this.”

 

Sosa sighed, “I didn’t say he did. I’m just saying that there is nothing I can do to protect him.”

 

Hannibal’s nerves were stretched to breaking point, “And why would you even want to?”

 

The temperature dropped noticeably. Sosa snatched the photographs from the table and stuffed them back into the envelope, “Because I don’t want to see him in trouble. You’re not the only one who cares about him you know.”

 

“Didn’t bother you when you walked out on him.”

 

Rising to her feet, Sosa shot him a cold stare, “Who said I ever wanted to? It was getting kind of crowded in our relationship though,” she glared meaningfully at Hannibal and flicked the envelope in her hand, “Perhaps now you know how that feels?” Hannibal’s returning glare was as cold as her own. “Don’t let him burn,” and then she was gone.

 

Hannibal looked back at the single image still grasped in his hand, “Boys?” he knew they were listening, probably as much in shock as he was.

 

“Chicago right, boss?”

 

__________

Forty-eight hours saw Hannibal, Murdock and BA relocated to Chicago and an operations base set up in the Embassy Suites down the block from W Lakeshore. BA managed to tap straight into the communications line for the Police Operation while Murdock camped out at the e-mail account they had been using to communicate with Face over the last few months.

 

Hannibal had spoken very little to the rest of his team since leaving Venice Beach. Well, obviously that wasn’t entirely accurate, there had been plenty of conversations about plans, arrangements, flights, accommodation, BA had offered to fly as long as he would be sedated for the trip, a measure of the magnitude of his concern, but no conversation at all about the conversation with Sosa. Murdock and BA had heard everything after all and it was obvious from the set of Hannibal’s eyes that he really didn’t want to go over any of that again.

 

But it was all the boss had thought about. Not the murder, he knew that Face hadn’t done that, there was absolutely no doubt of that in his mind. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that Face was capable of killing, knew that there was a streak of violence within him that could surface from time to time and Face struggled to hold it back. But he knew he hadn’t done this. It was the mob, must have been, men like Joey Pacitto didn’t tolerate infidelity well, but for some reason, they hadn’t got to Face. Not yet.

 

Infidelity. That was another thought that wouldn’t settle in Hannibal’s head. What had been going on with Face and this woman? Hannibal knew Face almost as well as he knew himself, or did he now? He’d have staked his life on the fact that Face loved him back, just needed a bit of time to sort himself out. Hannibal’s declaration had caught him out, pushed him into a corner, and if there was one thing Face couldn’t cope with it was corners. Put him in a corner and he would run or fight, and this time he’d chosen to run. Again.

 

So what was going on with Jessica Gaarder? The sex didn’t surprise Hannibal at all, he wasn’t pleased, of course he wasn’t, but again he knew Face well enough to know that this was just what his lieutenant did. Sex was a hobby to Face, like squash or fossil collecting; it had very little to do with emotion. No, it was that image of them in the corridor holding hands that had floored him. The sex meant nothing, Face could sleep with anyone and it would mean nothing, but holding hands, that implied some kind of emotion attachment. How had Hannibal been so wrong in his reading of the situation? How could Face have ever been in love with him if he had moved on so quickly and effortlessly?

 

Seems that Hannibal had been fooling himself all along. Nothing like a bit of wishful thinking to delude a lonely old man.    

 

Anyway, he shook unhelpful thoughts out of his head, none of that mattered now. Face was in trouble and needed him, and Hannibal would always be there for him. Always. No matter what Face did or where he went, he would always be there. They just needed to find where ‘there’ was.

 

“Boss,” BA’s voice cut into his musing and Hannibal picked his way across the tangle of wires strewn across the carpet of the hotel room.

 

“Yeah, big guy?”

 

BA was hunched over a couple of laptops, headphones in place over his ears. “Forensic report just come in on a couple of champagne glasses in Face’s room.”

 

Again Hannibal’s chest tightened, champagne? What did they need champagne for? What on earth were they celebrating? He really didn’t want to go there just now, so he leant over the back of his chair and looked at the screen that BA was tapping with his finger. “Traces of Flunitrazepam... what’s that?”

 

Murdock appeared at his shoulder, “It’s a Benzodiazepine, a sedative. Knocks people out...”

 

Hannibal and BA traded glances, “Someone wanted Faceman out of action, Boss.”

 

“Yeah,” Hannibal straightened up, “And Sosa said he only just made it out before the cops arrived after an anonymous tip off. Sound to me like the mob left him alive to take the blame for the murder. No sign of where the doped drink had come from?”

 

BA turned back to the screen, “Nah. No bottle or anything like that in the room. In fact,” Hannibal bent to read over his shoulder, “This report says that there was nothing of personal interest in the room. No clothes, toiletries, anything, even though Face had stayed there most of the week.”

 

Hannibal frowned. “Weird. I doubt Face packed them both up before he disappeared.” He watched as Murdock slouched back across the room and collapsed onto the bed in front of his own laptop, “You alright there, Captain?”

 

Murdock looked up and caught his eye before shrugging and pressing the F5 button on his laptop. “Sure...”

 

Hannibal followed him over and perched on the end of the bed, looking at the inbox that Murdock was compulsively refreshing. Twelve or thirteen neat little emails from Face were stacked up on the page, the last one being from exactly a week ago. “Did he say anything in his last email that might give us a clue what’s been going on?”

 

Murdock shook his head, “Just the usual crap. Lies about going on hikes in the mountains, stuff like that.”

 

“Right,” Hannibal sighed, “You’ve phoned Montana then?”

 

“Yeah. He left two weeks after us, Boss! Never told me, he’s been lying to me all this time!”

 

Hannibal squeezed his shoulder; he knew all that, had made his own phone calls yesterday. “Don’t judge him, HM; let’s give him the chance to explain first.”

 

Murdock flashed him an angry glance, “How can you stand up for him? After he’s been with her as well?”

 

Hannibal really didn’t want to do this now, “Murdock, we don’t own him, he-” but he was cut off by the ding-dong of a message arriving into the inbox.

 

All three of them whirled to the screen as a new email from Face flashed onto the page and Murdock pounced on the keyboard to open it up. There was no subject line, and the body of the text simply read, ‘I can’t. I think I killed her.’

 

BA frowned, “What does that mean? What did you say to him?” Murdock scrolled down to the body of his message, ’Face, we know you are in trouble, let us know where you are, buddy, and we’ll come and get you.’ and BA shook his head, “Why would he think he’d killed her?”

 

Hannibal knew instantly, “Nightmares,” he muttered, “he thinks he killed her in a nightmare. You know how he gets.”

 

“Oh, man...” BA rubbed his head, “but he didn’t though. I saw the pictures of that girl and Face didn’t do that. When he has a nightmare he just loses it; that was one carefully placed knife. They’re setting him up.”

 

Murdock shook his head and pressed F5 again before clicking on reply, “What shall I say boss? He might still be there? What shall I say?”

 

Hannibal leaned over the screen, “Tell him that. Warn him the mob will be after him and get a location. We’ll pick him up now.”

 

A tense silence fell over the room as Murdock frantically typed a reply then hit send and five tortuous minutes passed by before a reply dropped into the box.

 

“Yes!” BA hissed as Murdock opened it up to reveal the address of an internet cafe up on North Avenue.

 

“BA, you know where that is?” Hannibal asked urgently.

 

“Yeah, man, it’s near the Chicago History Museum, ten minutes max.”

 

“Okay,” Hannibal was already dragging his jacket on, “Murdock, stay on with him, tell him we’re coming, don’t let him disappear again. BA, let’s go.”

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